Quite A Scare

Welcome to Monday, dear reader. I am hopeful this week will be better than last week. If I'm being honest, I hate 2026. I began the year so hopeful, so thoroughly convinced that this year would be filled with change. I got the change part correct, but I don't think any of it is good. Last week was just another week that made me look at my husband, message the people I care about, and say, "I hate this year." 

On Thursday, the Heavy B gave us quite a scare. The morning began like every other morning. I drank my coffee and cuddled my dog. Then, the Heavy B, The Bibbed Wonder, and I went for our morning walk. Eric and I walked while Buster ran ahead of us. I call them his side adventures, but he runs into the field and sniffs like crazy, or runs into the woods and chases squirrels and chipmunks. He usually pops in and out of the woods, keeping an eye on me and an ear and nose to the ground, looking for those infuriating rodents. Buster hates squirrels and chipmunks. However, rather than seeing him pop in and out of the woods, we heard his frantic barking. It was his " I have captured a critter in a tree, know there is no way I am going to get it, but I want you to celebrate my accomplishment" bark. 

The Bibbed Wonder and I took off to see what my boy had captured. The whole way there, Eric was saying, "Please don't be a bear, please don't be a bear."  It was not a bear, it was a porcupine. It was not up a tree, but in a hollowed-out tree. Thankfully, Buster does not have a high kill instinct. He was circling the tree and barking, but keeping his distance from the quilled interloper. I was able to coax my boy away from the tree, and we headed home. Buster was very excited, but nothing out of the ordinary for an exciting morning walk. 

When we returned to the house, he was panting heavily, but considering the excitement of finding a porcupine, I was not alarmed. I filled his water dish with fresh water, he drank a considerable amount, then he went to lie down in the living room. I finished my coffee and was just headed upstairs to shower when he stood up and vomited. I hurriedly got him outside, where he immediately got sick again. I thought that was unusual, but he did eat some grass on the walk. I thought he was suffering from an upset stomach. It seemed rather odd and random, but I wasn't overly concerned. Buster moved out into the yard and continued to be sick. I went into the house to get a paper towel to wipe his face. I was gone for a minute. When I returned, Buster was lying in the yard, as if asleep. I rushed over to him, and his eyes were closed. I said his name and stroked his head. To my alarm and surprise, he was cold. He opened his eyes, looked at me, wagged his tail, and closed his eyes again. 

I ran to the shop to get Eric. Eric looked at him, stroked his head, then began feeling his paws, his ears, and the inside of his mouth. He looked at me sadly and said, "I'm sorry, buddy, but I think we are losing him." I took his temperature, and it was 37.3 Celcius. He put up no fight when I took his temperature, which is highly unusual. He was one degree away from hypothermia. I kept repeating, "I don't understand. He was fine. He was fine."  Eric pulled the car into the yard; we slid Buster onto a blanket and lifted him into the back seat. 

I sat in the back of the car with my boy and stroked him. I told him over and over again it would be okay. God love him, his tail never stopped wagging. We rushed him to the vet, calling them on the way to tell them what was happening. When we arrived, they were waiting for us with a gurney. Eric lifted Buster onto the gurney, which is no small feat. I walked beside him with my hand on his head. My boy didn't move a muscle except for his tail. When the vet techs took him back to the emergency room, my boy lifted his head, made eye contact with me, gave one more tail wag, and then put his beautiful big head down in submission. 

To my credit, I kept it together. The tears wouldn't stop running down my cheeks, but I remained calm. It felt like forever until the vet techs came to us with any news. They wanted to do bloodwork and an X-ray to rule out a blockage or bloat. It then took another eternity for them to return, but this time they had The Heavy-B with them on the gurney. Everything in his stomach and bowels looked fine, but his heart was enlarged, and there was some fluid beginning to build in his lungs, which meant my boy was in heart failure. His heart could not keep up. The vet said he had a cardiac episode. I asked if he had a heart attack, and she said yes, but they don't like to use that word because it is scary. She is correct. It is scary. They did more bloodwork, gave him a shot of Lasik, and sent us home with two different heart medications. The vet has deemed my boy "exercise intolerant" and suggested a week of rest, then limited activity. 

Thursday, I was thoroughly convinced we were going to lose my boy. Buster was exhausted and barely moved. He didn't/couldn't get up on the couch with me, so I lay on the floor with him. He remained cold all day. I kept him covered with a blanket and spooned him to keep him warm. When we returned home, he drank almost a full bowl of water. After several hours, my boy lost control of his bladder while he slept. It broke my heart to see the look of panic in his eyes when he realized what had happened. He did rise and go outside at that point. However, once he finished emptying his bladder, he lay down in the yard as if it was too much for him. Eric advised me to let him be. We all felt Buster was dying. I stayed within sight of him at all times. Eventually, he came onto the porch and lay at my feet. I then went inside to get his bed and blankets. He sniffed his bed, but chose to lie on the hard cement. At this point, I let him do whatever he felt like doing. 

Thursday night, I slept downstairs with my boy. He didn't have the energy to climb the stairs to our room. I awoke throughout the night to check on him, each time in a panic. However, his breathing was steady, and he repositioned himself. His stomach was too upset for him to take his medicine. He tried, but my poor boy couldn't eat anything without getting sick immediately. I was so very worried. Friday morning, I called the vet's office at 6:30. They told me I could bring Buster in for a shot to help with the nausea, but the vet wouldn't be in until 8:30. At 7:30, my boy got up to go outside. He took both his pills hidden inside peanut butter bread, and he kept them down. To say I was relieved is an understatement.  

When the vet called me back at 8:30, I told her he had taken his pills and kept them down. She told me it was good and that I should begin to see improvement within several days. She advised me to let him rest, limit his activity, and let him eat when he felt like it. Buster goes back for a check-up in two weeks. 

I am happy to share that my boy is improving a little bit every day. He wants to go for his daily walk and is disappointed that we don't, but I don't think he has the energy for it quite yet. We walk around the yard, and that seems to be enough. He still isn't eating very much, but he is taking his pills like a little champ. He likes his Aunt Tricia's treats, aka Canine Confections treats. Eric and I have noticed our boy seems to have aged overnight. Suddenly, he looks like an old man. This, dear reader, breaks my heart. 

I hate how suddenly everything went to sh** with him. One minute he was treeing a porcupine, and the next minute he was dying. We do not get enough time with those we love, whether four-legged or two-legged. All I can say is I hate this year, and we are very early into it. I am taking as much time with my boy as I can. I know I have limited time with him. The vet says that pets can live for years on heart medication, but she also told me one day he will go to sleep and not awaken. I guess if one has to go, that is the most idyllic way. I pray it is years from now. 

On this sunny, spring day, stay safe, be smart, take the time for those you love, time is short, things happen fast, 2026 sucks so far, and keep washing your hands.